


This is Not the End

by RiseHigh



Series: Cursed Beginnings and Blessed Ends [4]
Category: Class (TV 2016)
Genre: And all those emotions Quill pretends not to have, And then some Ram thrown in, Because a Quill/Ram conversation post-The Lost is v imporant, But the circle ends with Tanya and Quill, But then needs a break with her friend in the making, Figuratively in the form of fighting grief, Gen, Literally in the form of training, Look this fic evolved into it's own thing while I wrote it, Post-Series, Quill is therapist to all the kids, Tanya and Quill bonding, While also fighting, With my favorite Reluctant Housemates mixed in
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-17
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-09-25 04:06:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9801971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiseHigh/pseuds/RiseHigh
Summary: “Why do you care what I need all of the sudden?  You don’t do caring.”“Not in your human sense.”Tanya couldn’t help but let out an exasperated laugh.  “Not in any sense.”“You don’t know the first thing about me, Miss Adeola.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This picks up right after 'Walk the Line Through Pain' and probably could be considered a Chapter 2 to that (especially since the title of this one comes from the next line in the song that prompted the title of that one), but this is going to be a 2-3 chapter thing following the arc of Tanya and Quill bonding, so it felt like it needed to be it's own thing.
> 
> Plus, it seems like I can't write anything in a cohesive order these days (which is why I'm plopping this into the series as the fourth fic even though it's the sixth one written and this first chapter occurs before the second and third fic in the series.

Tanya was barely into the flat before her brothers arms were around her.  Solid.  Strong.  And so very much alive.  Then there came the barrage of questions.

_Are you okay?  What happened? Where’s mum? Why is there blood…?  What was that thing?_

She answered the first—assured them she was fine—but then Tanya wasn’t sure what else to say.  Yes, she knew she had to tell them the truth, but how did one do that?  A part of her just wanted to stay in her brothers’ embrace and pretend the last few hours had never happened. 

But hugs don’t last forever.  Nothing did.

Tanya shrugged slightly to get out of their hug.  They pulled back, but Damon kept his arm around her shoulders while Jarvis’s stood close enough that their shoulders brushed against each other.  It was then that her brothers noticed Miss Quill.

“Why is your physics teacher here?” Jarvis asked.

Damon looked down at her.  “Since when do you bring teachers home?”

“I saved your lives in the library,” Quill said.  “Least you can do is address me by my name.”

“Miss Quill drove me home,” Tanya explained before either of her brothers could shoot back with a smart remark.

“Why?” Jarvis asked.

Damon’s question came at almost the same time. “What was that thing in the library?”

“A…” Tanya trailed off before remembering what Quill had said in the car.  Her brothers deserved the truth—she _needed_ them to know the truth.  “An alien.”

“Figured it wasn’t from Earth,” Damon said with a hint of a bemused smile. “We’re not that slow.”

Jarvis, however, didn’t even crack a smile.  “You knew what it was though,” he concluded, looking at Quill rather than Tanya.  “You’re more than just a physics teacher, aren’t you?”

“Physics teacher is the least interesting thing about me.”  Quill walked past them and headed toward the lounge.  “Sit.  I’ve learned your type prefers to be sitting for this kind of thing.”

Jarvis eyed Quill suspiciously. “Our type?”

Tanya shrugged noncommittally. “Just do as she says.”

She walked to the sofa and sat down.  Her brothers gave Quill, who was now seated in the armchair that used to be their dad’s favorite, a wary look before sitting down on the sofa so that Tanya was sat between them.  Tanya looked across at Quill who was watching her intently.  When their eyes met, Quill raised an eyebrow as if to say ‘go on’ but Tanya couldn’t.

If she didn’t talk about it—if she didn’t tell her brothers about the Shadow Kin—then she wouldn’t have to tell them how their mum died.  And if Tanya didn’t tell them, then she could pretend that Mum was still at work and would be home making tea in a matter of minutes.  So instead of speaking, she just looked down at her hands.

“That _thing_ in the library was the leader of the Shadow Kin—a brutal race hell bent on spreading death and destruction across the universe,” Quill explained with surprisingly little emotion.  Tanya had expected rage but instead of vitriol Quill spoke with a clinical detachment. “They destroyed my planet—my people—and were going to destroy Earth, but your sister helped stop them.”

A heavy silence fell over the room and Tanya kept her focus on her hands, even though Damon was nudging her arm to get her to say something.  Jarvis’ approach was much more direct.

“So you’re an alien,” he began, pointing first at Quill and then waving his hand generally around the room. “Earth was invaded by different aliens and our little sister fought those aliens.”

“More or less.”

“No,” Tanya corrected. “It wasn’t just me.  We fought them—all of us.”

“Who’s we?” Damon asked.

“My friends and Miss Quill.”

“How?” Jarvis asked, his attention once again focused on Quill.

“Doesn’t matter,” Quill answered quickly.  “The Shadow Kin are gone.”

“But what if they come back?”

“They won’t,” Quill said.  Her voice still didn’t betray any emotion, but this time Tanya could see the dark satisfaction in her eyes.  “They’re dead.  All of them—wiped from the universe.”

Damon moved to wrap his arm around her shoulders.  “But not before doing damage.”

Tanya nodded.  This was the moment—the moment that she would have to tell them—that her brothers would learn they were orphans.  It turned out she didn’t have to say it.

“They killed mum,” Jarvis concluded.

Again, Tanya nodded.  Turns out, not saying the words didn’t make the truth any easier.

* * *

The Adeola brothers took the news better than Quill had expected—at least about the aliens anyway.  They were gutted about their mother and there had been emotion, before the numbness of shock set in.  Their grandmother had been notified with a suitably vague explanation of a tragic accident and would be arriving in a couple of hours.  She needed to arrange a ride or something—Quill hadn’t paid attention to the details—but an adult was on its way.  

They told her she could leave, but Quill insisted on staying.  They seemed fine—well, they were hiding from their emotions by playing a video game together (who was she to judge their method of coping)—but she felt compelled to stay, if only to avoid returning home to the moping prince, or at least that’s what she told herself.  It had nothing to do with the disturbingly protective urge she had to ensure these children had a proper adult around them.

Excusing herself in the name of the bathroom, Quill left them to find the blood one of the brothers had mentioned when they arrived.  It would no doubt belong to their mother.  No child—not even a Quill one—needed to see the remnants of a loved one destroyed by an enemy. 

There were two open doors in the corridor—out of one came the faint odor of what Quill had learned was “teenage boy” thanks to the two in her home, so she tried the other first.  There were posters on the wall that Quill recognized from one of Tanya’s notebooks.  There was also dried blood—a lot of it.  Sighing, she headed to the bathroom to find the appropriate cleaning supplies.

“What are you doing?”

Quill looked up from cupboard under the bathroom sink to see one of the brothers—the pink-shirted one—looking at her.  She ignored his question.

“I need a bucket.  Do you have one?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Can you get it?”

“Why?” 

There was no need for his questions.  If he kept this up, the others were bound to notice what she was doing.  Quill held up a bottle of peroxide.  “I need to dilute this.”

“Why?”

The noises of the game in the other room stopped.  Quill dropped her voice.  “The blood.  It needs to be cleaned.”

His eyes widened for a moment and he nodded quickly.  “It’s in the kitchen.”

Quill followed him into the kitchen and found Tanya and the orange-shirted one staring at them. 

“What’s going on?” Tanya asked.

“Keep playing that game,” Quill dismissed with a wave of her hand.  She spotted dish detergent by the sink and picked it up to examine the ingredients.  This could be helpful.  She grabbed a large bowl that was drying in the rack by the sink and a rag. “The pink-shirted one and I have the matter at hand.”

She watched Tanya open her mouth to argue, but then the girl shrugged tiredly.  “That’s Jarvis,” she offered before turning back to the game.

“It’s more peach than pink.”

“Whatever.”

Quill reached for the bucket but ‘Jarvis’ shook his head.  “I’ll help.”

“She was your mother too.”

“But Tan’s my sister.”

That was as good of a reason as any.  Quill nodded and led the way to the bedroom without another word. 

* * *

Within minutes of their grandma’s arrival, Quill disappeared.  Well, not so much disappear but left without a word.  If not for the door slamming (because of course Quill wouldn’t see the need to close the door quietly out of respect for their neighbors), Tanya would have missed her exit completely.  Disentangling herself from her grandma’s arms, she dashed out of the flat after her.

“Quill,” she called as she saw a flash of blond hair enter the lift.  For a moment, Tanya thought she hadn’t heard her or the doors had slid closed, but then Quill reappeared.  She stood—arms crossed—and waited for Tanya to walk over her.  “Where are you going?”

“Home.  Your grandmother is here.  You no longer have a need for a designated adult.”

“But…”  Tanya trailed off, unsure of what to say.  Quill had just spent hours sitting in their flat—watching them play video games and doing whatever it was she went to take care of with Jarvis—but now she was glaring at her impatiently. 

“What?” Quill prompted.

She didn’t know what to say, but she needed to say something.  “You didn’t have to stay, but you did,” Tanya said finally.  She heard her mum’s voice in her head, _when someone is does something for you, you respond with thank you_.  Tanya bit the inside of her cheek to distract herself from the tears that once again threatened at the thought of her mum.  “Thanks.”

Tanya expected Quill to shrug off the gratitude or respond with some dismissive comment, but instead her statement was met with a look of surprise.  Then confusion.

“You’re not expecting another hug, are you?” Quill asked warily.  “Because I…” she trailed off and, for a few seconds, looked incredibly uncomfortable.  But then her face shifted to her more standard expression of annoyed disgust.  “I’ve endured enough _human_ _emotion_ for one day.”

“You just had to ruin the moment.”

“What moment?”

“Like you see in movies.”  Tanya wasn’t entirely sure why she was still talking.  Quill clearly wanted to leave, but she was still trying to understand why Quill came up to the flat with her in the first place.  “You know,” she continued.  “Where it’s revealed that the bitter authority figure secretly has a heart of gold.”

Quill rolled her eyes.  “I don’t do moments.  And, haven’t you heard?  I don’t have a heart.”

“Then why did you stay?” 

“Didn’t have anything better to do.”

This time Tanya rolled her eyes.  “Whatever.  Goodnight then.”

“Night.”

Tanya watched her punch the button for the lift and then turned to head back to the flat.  She was halfway there when she heard the ding of its arrival. 

“You know where to find me.”

Tanya turned around at the sound of her voice, but Quill was already gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so nothing really happened here and Quill's exit is rather abrupt, but she really is maxed out on emotion. Like, she's totally fine when she's looking after her soldiers and ensuring they are all right after a battle--but the moment it starts feeling like she's staying just because she cares, I see her walking away rather than acknowledging all the caring. Or something. 
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading. :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somehow this Tanya/Quill fic got sidetracked into breakfast adventures of Quill, Matteusz, and Charlie because I can't help myself.
> 
> And because them living together would still be crazy awkward as they try to find this new normal and I can totally see Mattuesz trying to make sure they have some semblance of normalcy (for them anyway) since he and Charlie would still be working through their stuff (you know, the stuff I don't write in but you all should assume is happening).

Sunday morning began the same way every Sunday morning began on Earth—well, the way Sundays had begun since Mattuesz had moved in—with the sickening sound of the lovebirds making breakfast.  They sounded a bit more subdued than prior Sundays they were still cooking together and Quill was certain she heard flirting as she descended the stairs.

The flirting stopped when she appeared in the kitchen. 

Things were still—for lack of a better word—weird between the three of them.  She was fine with the minimal communication.  There was nothing _needed_ to say to Charles and there certainly was nothing she _wanted_ to say to him.  The prince seemed to find this mutually agreeable.  He didn’t utter a single objection in response to her taking nearly half of the pepperoni pizza up to the solitude of her room the night before.

The Polish one, however, didn’t approve of this arrangement.  _Never talking is not sustainable if we are all going to live together_ , he had told her Friday evening when he was helping her put away the groceries she had picked up in the shop on her way home from the school.  She had rolled her eyes, taken a bag of crisps, and headed up to her bedroom leaving the rest of groceries to him. 

“Good morning,” Matteusz greeted cheerily.

Quill looked from him to the table that was set for three.  A preemptive strike to keep her from retreating to her room. 

“Morning,” she said before going to the seat that had a newspaper and her French Press waiting for her.

The pair went back to cooking (and quietly flirting) and it wasn’t long before the three were seated at the table in silence.  For Quill, not speaking during breakfast (or any meal) was the norm, but it was strange to not hear them talking.  She may not enjoy unnecessary conversation, but apparently had gotten used to the background noise of the two of them.

Lifting her mug to her lips, Quill glanced at of them.  Charles was focused on his food, but Mattuesz was studiously pretending not to be looking at her.  He was clearly trying to bait her into talking.  She kept her eyes fixed on him until he finally glanced over at her, at which point she raised her eyebrows in amusement and then went back to her sausages.

Quill was not about to be bested by the Polish one in a battle of wills.

Especially over something as unimportant as small talk.

The boys remained silent and after a few minutes her sausages were finished, so Quill got up to refill her plate from what remained on the stove.  There were no more sausages but there were eggs.  Eggs were bland, but she was still hungry so she scooped some onto her plate and rummaged through the cupboard until she found tabasco sauce.  After adding a few dashes, she returned to the table where the boys were now talking to each other. 

Some battle of the wills that was.

When she caught Matteusz’s eye, he literally shrugged at her and went back to his conversation about—well, something pointless, she was sure—Quill couldn’t be bothered to actually listen to what they were saying.  With their background noise restored, she tucked into her eggs and went back to her newspaper. 

“Quill.”

The background noise wanted her attention—they both wanted her attention, but she chose to glare specifically at Charles since he was the one who had said her name (and simply because he was him).

“Will you be coming to the Gurdwara with us?”

The question came from Matteusz, so she stopped glaring at Charles to look at him. “What?”

“It is the Sikh place…”

“…of worship,” Quill finished at the same time as him.  “I know what a Gurdwara is.”

The Polish one had enough sense not to question her understanding.  The prince was not as wise.

“You do?”

His surprise annoyed her (beyond the usual), so she returned to glaring at him.  “It’s called Wikipedia, Charles.”

“Why were you researching Sikhism?”

Was he really still doing this—questioning her every move?  What right did he have to inquire into what she chose to research?  And yet, in spite of herself, Quill found herself answering almost automatically.

“There are nearly half a million people practicing the religion in the UK.”

“And Ram.”

Quill ignored Matteusz’s comment.  She was too focused on Charles and the troubling fact that she was still answering the prince’s questions even without the arn—it was like some ingrained habit she couldn’t seem to break.  It infuriated her.  He infuriated her. 

“But you don’t even believe in your…”

“You don’t know what I believe,” she snapped before he could finish the statement.

“I…”  

This time it was Matteusz who cut him off—albeit much more gently than she had done.  “We wanted to know if you plan to attend the service for Ram’s dad.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Other teachers will be there.”

“More reason not to attend.”  Quill stood up and carried her plate to the sink.  “Besides I have plans.”

“Let me guess, you don’t intend on sharing them.”

“Correct, Charles.”

* * *

Her plans—she was sure—would be less enjoyable than participating in human funerary customs.  She needed maternity clothing.  Quill had already exhausted the three articles of clothing that fit her protruding stomach and was not about to wear only three different things for what would likely be a month.  

The night before—while eating the pizza in her room—Quill had started looking on Amazon there was an overwhelming amount of ruffles, flowing material, and what she considered to be a surprising amount of lace—it was all so impractical.  As much as she loathed the prospect of interacting with humans, Quill knew that venturing into shops to extract what appealed to her would be more efficient.

That still didn’t make it enjoyable.

Every single one of the shop girls seemed intent on prying into her personal life.  _When are you due?  Is it a boy or a girl?_ Even those who were quieted by her glare gave her the look that said _Oh, pregnancy hormones_.  It was exhausting, but by the end of the day enough clothing that she would never have to set foot in one of those shops again.

Quill also had chips. 

A lot of chips.  Four orders to be precise. 

When she got home, she gave two of them to the boys (which earned her a surprised ‘thanks’ from Charles and a slightly smug ‘thank you’ from the Polish one) and then took the rest—and her purchases—up to her room.  She marked homework, ate her chips, and looked at 37 pictures of cats on her tablet. 

By 6:08 p.m. the marking was finished and so were the chips.

Quill was debating whether it was worth going downstairs to the teenagers so she could watch television—she was hesitating mostly because it was something she would do before she got the arn out.  The fact that she still didn’t have anything better to do on a Sunday night was troubling.  Thankfully her phone buzzed before she could think of a further.  It was a text from an unknown number.

 **Unknown:** _Miss Quill?_

 **Unknown:** _It’s Tanya.  Matteusz gave me your number._

Of course he did.  That boy clearly needed to learn some boundaries.  His motivations, however, were no doubt good.  Given the circumstances, Quill decided a reply was warranted.

 **Quill:** _Yes?_

The three dots appeared and then disappeared after a minute.  They started again and, after another minute, disappeared.  Quill sighed and went to add the number to her contacts.  When she finished, there were still the waxing and waning three dots with no text. 

 **Quill:** _Meet at the school auditorium in 20 minutes._

 **Quill:** _Be dressed to fight._

The three dots again.  This time they didn’t last long.

 **The Competent One:** _Ok._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will actually feature Tanya. I promise. But at the same time, getting into Quill's head space (and continued loneliness mixed with a touch of post-arn trauma), is important to her bonding with Quill.
> 
> ETA: Credit to tigresswraith on tumblr for suggesting 'The Competent One'.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to our regularly scheduled Tanya/Quill bonding in this one. This chapter was meant to be just Quill helping Tanya through fighting, but then Tanya ends up helping Quill because the removal of the arn and the death of the Shadow Kin aren't magical fixes for everything in her life.

Jarvis insisted on walking her to the school.  He claimed it was because it was dark, but the sun was barely down and subtlety was never Jarvis’ strong suit.  Tanya had tried to get Damon to convince him she’d be fine walking alone, but had just shrugged and gone back to helping their grandma in the kitchen.

“There’s Miss Quill.  You can go now.”

“You can’t tell that it’s her.”

“You think there’s some other blonde waiting outside the school on a Sunday night?”

“Could be.  I’m staying until I know for certain that it’s your alien physics teacher.”

“Don’t call her that.”

“Physics teacher,” he teased, bumping her shoulder for emphasis.

Tanya rolled her eyes.  “Alien.”

“Well, that’s what she is.”

“Yeah, but she’s also just Quill.”  They were close enough to the school now that even Jarvis wouldn’t be able to deny it.  She stopped in her tracks and gestured at the school.  “See, that’s clearly her.  You can go home now.”

“What time do you want me to come back to get you?”

“Jarvis.”

“Have her walk you home.”

“I don’t need an escort—I walk to and from school alone pretty much every day.”

“This week hasn’t been every day,” he said and she nodded reluctantly.  There was no way to argue with that.  “She walks you home or you text me.”

“Fine.  Now go home and help Damon and Grandma.”

“Fine.”

He wasn’t moving, so Tanya just started walking.  “Bye Jarvis,” she called over her shoulder.

“Nineteen minutes,” Quill said in place of a greeting.  “Good.  I thought you might be late.”

Quill turned around and walked into the building, making clear she didn’t expect a response, which was good because Tanya wasn’t sure what the appropriate response would be. 

It was strange being back in the school.  There was a comfort to be walking through the familiar corridors, but at the same time it felt as if she had been away for a lifetime when it had only been a few days.  Being back in the auditorium felt even stranger, but Quill seemed unbothered by any of it—she just shucked off her coat and waited for Tanya to do the same.

With her coat off, Tanya realized Quill was dressed in black leggings, heels, and a top that looked vaguely like a pullover but had an asymmetrical zip and snaps at the neck.  Looking down at her own sweat pants and tank top, Tanya felt under-dressed.

“I thought you said be dressed to fight.”

“That instruction was for you.  I am dressed to fight regardless of what I am wearing.”

“So you were just sitting around in heels on a Sunday night?”

“Yes, so?”

“I don’t know.”  Tanya shrugged.  “I just figured you’d wear something casual on weekends like most people.”

“I’m not most people—or even one of your people.”  Quill looked down and tugged at the cuff of her sleeve in a way that almost seemed self-conscious.  “Besides this is one of your so-called hoodies, isn’t it?”

Tanya leaned so that she could see that there was indeed a hood. “Yeah,” she gestured at the neckline as she continued, “But it’s got all that—none of my hoodies are that fancy.”

“I’m not going to neglect my appearance or dress like a fourteen-year-old just because I’m pregnant.”  Quill raised her fists.  “Now let’s see what you remember.”

They begin much as they had before, but after a few minutes there was a shift in Quill’s instruction to more fundamental skills.  Without the immediate looming threat the lessons were less urgent than before, but Quill was no less demanding.  The moves may be more simplistic but Quill was exacting in her critique of Tanya’s form—insisting on near perfection before allowing her to move on to a new skill. 

It was exhausting, but Tanya enjoyed every minute.  It was a relief to have an outlet for her emotions that was something other than tears—it was an even bigger relief to be able to focus on something other than death and loss.  Her entire being was focused on her body and Quill’s voice pushing her to be better. 

There was no room for anything else—until Quill stepped back.

“That’s enough for today.”

And like that, the bubble of quiet that fighting had put around her thoughts burst. “What?”

“There’s no point in over doing it.” 

“I’m fine.”

“No.”  Quill shook her head.  “You’ll already be sore tomorrow.”

Tanya raised her fists.  What was with Quill always trying to stop her?  “I’ll be fine,” she argued through gritted teeth.

“There is school in the morning.  The interim headmaster said you would be returning.”

“But…”

“You’re done.”

“Why?!”

Tanya didn’t intend to shout but after nearly 72 hours of putting up a brave face for family and friends, she couldn’t keep it up any longer.  She wanted to keep fighting—she needed to keep fighting—Quill was the one person who should be able to understand it, and yet, Quill was telling her to stop. 

“You won’t improve if you insist on overdoing it.”

“You’re always complaining about how humans never work hard enough, so why are you stopping me now?”

“Because you need to.”

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t.”

Tanya sighed in frustration as she watched Quill go get her coat.  It didn’t make any sense—Quill didn’t make any sense.

“Then why are you here?  Why drop everything and meet me in the auditorium?”  Tanya waved her hand around the empty space for emphasis.  “Why spend half the night at my flat?”

“Because you needed it.”

“Why do you care what I need all of the sudden?  You don’t do caring.”

“Not in your human sense.”

Tanya couldn’t help but let out an exasperated laugh.  “Not in any sense.”

“You don’t know the first thing about me, Miss Adeola.”

“You’ve been my teacher for months.”

“Yeah, well, things were different then.”

Quill’s voice suddenly softer—well, not softer, but less sharp—than it had been when delivering previous comebacks.  Something about the shift in tone managed to deflate Tanya’s anger and spark her curiosity.

“How?” 

“You tell me.”

Tanya tried to think of a reason—acutely aware that forcing herself to think logically was having a calming effect on her.  Quill wouldn’t act out of pity for her mum.  Even when Tanya had shown up at her door in tears, there had only been confusion followed by understanding.  It had been the same when they talked about the Lankin—no pity, just an understanding of loss. 

“It’s not because you’re pregnant…”

Quill rolled her eyes.  “We’ve covered that.”

“Then what?”

“Think, Miss Adeola.”  Quill’s eyes bored into her as she spoke.  “You’re meant to be the clever one.”

“The thing in your head,” she realized.  Her eyes shifted slightly so she could study Quill’s scar.  That couldn’t be what she meant, could it?  “So it made you mean?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Quill scoffed and Tanya felt mildly embarrassed for the guess.  “I’m mean because I want to be.”

“So what?”  Tanya furrowed her brow.  “It prevented you from caring?”

“Never mind.  It doesn’t matter.”

That was a non-answer. Tanya must have guessed correctly.  “Okay, maybe not literally,” she continued, “But it did in practice, didn’t it?”

Quill said nothing, but looked at Tanya with such curious intensity that Tanya knew she had to continue—if not for her own sake, then for Quill’s.  While Quill wasn’t saying much of anything it seemed like she was almost desperate for someone to put words to the thoughts she was reluctant to share.

“You had to do whatever Charlie said,” Tanya began slowly as she thought through what she as saying.  “You had to protect him at costs.  It forced you to make him your priority.”

“My only priority.”

“Caring for anyone—even for yourself—would be a liability.”  She had never thought of it that way before, but looking at Quill it was clear that it was something about which she had been all too aware.  “That sucks,” Tanya said which earned an somewhat appreciative look from Quill.  “I mean, the slavery part alone is bad enough, but that too?”

“You consider it slavery?”

“What else could you call it?”

“Charles called it— _still calls it_ —a just punishment.”

“Charlie’s wrong and I told him as much.”

“You did?”

Tanya could have sworn Quill’s jaw actually dropped a little bit.  Did Quill really think that no one else saw it?  That she wouldn’t have seen it?

“You’re surprised I would have a problem with slavery?”

“No, I’ve read enough about your human history, but I…” Quill trailed off.  She paused and then rolled her eyes, seemingly more so at herself than anything Tanya had said.  “Never mind.”

Tanya bent down to pick up her coat to give Quill a little some space since she seemed be uncomfortable and a little overwhelmed by where the conversation had taken them.  Tanya didn’t want to push it any further, but she felt the need to say something.

“I’m glad you got it out,”

Well, that may have been the lamest thing she could have said.  She wouldn’t be surprised if Quill laughed at her for it.  But instead she got a small nod from Quill before the woman brushed past her on her way towards the auditorium doors.  It was hard to tell when she could only see Quill’s back, but Tanya was fairly certain Quill had moved to wipe her eyes.

“Are you coming?” Quill said abruptly.  Keeping one hand on the door, she turned to look back at her.  “Because I am fairly certain that whichever overbearing brother it was, he wanted me to ensure you got home safe.”

“I can walk home by myself,” Tanya argued even though she was already walking towards Quill.

“I have no doubt you are capable, but there is no harm in indulging your brother.”

Tanya sighed and walked through the door.  “Jarvis.”

“Hmm?”

“That was Jarvis,” she clarified as she power walked to keep up with Quill’s brisk pace.  “The pink shirted one.”

“Ahh.”

“You know, they don’t always the same colors,” she said and Quill glanced at her briefly with a bored look.  “You’re not even going to try to learn their names, are you?”

Quill’s only response was a smirk.  Tanya just shook her head and kept walking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just love these two and what happens when I put them in a room together. That said, I'm not entirely sure whether the next chapter will feature them because right now it's just Quill and Ram talking in a classroom after school, because that happened. Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somehow Quill's become the unofficial therapist for all of these kids. Well, not all and not really a therapist (April would probably be much better equipped), but they just keep being around her with their problems and she keeps talking to them, so here with are--with a chapter of Quill/Charlie making baby steps towards figuring what the hell their new normal is and then a hopefully in character Ram.

Quill was greeted by a frowning prince at the kitchen table.  This was not unusual.  Since their arrival on Earth he had frowned at her from that table at least two times a week.  This time, however, it didn’t bother her.  He had no power to force her to listen to a lecture and training with Tanya had put her in a good mood.  The girl’s potential was pleasing—unlike the prince, who just looked pathetic.

She could be supportive or sarcastic.  She chose sarcasm.  “Don’t be so disappointed.”

“I thought you might be Matteusz.”

Quill shrugged and went to get herself a glass of water while he sighed dramatically.   After gulping half of it down quickly, she spotted a large bag of crisps on the countertop.  She was one third of the way through the bag when she realized that they were the Polish one’s favorite flavor. 

She should probably ascertain his location.

A text message would be the preferred form of contact, but not the most direct.  Biting back a groan, she turned to the prince. 

“Well?” she prompted.

He looked at her in surprise. “What?”

“Where is he?”

“He went for a walk.”  After holding her gaze for a moment, he went back to watching the door.  “Matteusz said it is important for us to have space to be individuals.”

“Well, you do spend every minute together.”

“Not every minute.”

“Most.”

His shoulders slumped.  “I guess,” he muttered.

Having gotten her answer, Quill took the crisps and carried them to the sofa in the lounge.  Turning on the television, she flipped through a few channels before settling on one with people cooking, which seemed to be a favorite form of entertainment for humans.  They seemed particularly obsessive about a baking show.  It was pointless, but no less pointless than any other reality program since at least it gave her ideas on foods to try—or to tell Matteusz to cook. 

This particularly program seemed to be more about displaying the food in an aesthetically pleasing fashion.  Quill didn’t see the point in wasting that much time on something you would only end up eating—even the Rhodians hadn’t paid this much attention to food design.  Still, it the program was kind of fascinating. 

The prince would enjoy it—well, would mock it with her—but he was still sat at the kitchen table staring at the door.

“Stop brooding and get in here.”

“What? Why?”

“Matteusz asked for space, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Well,” she continued slowly as if speaking to a small child, which in many ways the prince still was.  “Pouncing on him the moment he walks through the door is hardly space.”

“I’m not going to pounce on him.”

Quill rolled her eyes and tried a different tact.  “Fine, stay at the table and don’t find out what deconstructed fish and chips look like.”

“How do you deconstruct fish and chips?”

“With quinoa puffs apparently.”

“What are quinoa puffs?”

Quill shrugged.  “Come see for yourself.”

That worked and he came over to join her on the sofa.  As expected, he was quickly drawn in to the program and found the quinoa puffs to be as utterly pointless as she did.  But then the advert break began and his eyes were on the door again.

“You need to stop,” she said sharply as she grabbed another handful of crisps.

“What if he doesn’t come back?”

“He will,” she said with a mouthful of crisps.

“He didn’t before—he was gone the whole six days you were hibernating.”

Quill rolled her eyes and licked the salt from her fingers. “He was back when I woke up.”

“Yeah, but…”

“He loves you,” she said simply, leaving the crisp bag be for a moment.  “He’ll be back.”

“How do you know?”

“You’re not the only person to ever have been in love, Charles.”

This got his attention.  His face went from surprised to curious to uneasy as he looked at her stomach.  “So, um, you loved the father?”

“No,” she answered quickly.  She hadn’t loved Ballon.  Had she?  There had been an attraction and a camaraderie—and also a very real bond.  “Well, might have,” she admitted.  “If we had been allowed more time.”

“Then how do…” he trailed off thoughtfully. “You said you were in love once.  Before.”

The word ‘before’ hung heavy between them.  Quill was honestly surprised that he remembered her saying that.  She hadn’t thought he listened to a word she had said that day.  She was even more surprised that the prince had enough self-awareness to realize that asking her about him was not a good idea.

“You’re certain he’s coming back?” he asked instead.

“Yes, and when he does he will most likely greet you with some unnecessary display of affection.”  Her voice dripped with disgust, which got him to smile slightly, which made her feel strangely satisfied. 

That thought was disturbing.

Rather than dwell on that, Quill picked up the bag of crisps again and continued, “Then we will make him explain why humans have this need to spend hours cooking and then ‘deconstruct’ what they created.”

“It’s artistic.”

“That cake looks partially digested.”

“No it doesn’t,” he argued and she gave him an incredulous look.  “More like partially chewed.”

Quill passed him the bag of crisps.  “Fair.”

He took a handful and passed the bag back.  Quill continued eating, but she could feel his eyes on here. It was only a matter of minutes before he was speaking again.

“What were…” he began before stopping and restarting.  “May I ask what you were doing with Tanya?

“Teaching her to fight.”

“Why?”

Quill shrugged.  “It’s what she needed.”

“No one _needs_ to fight.”

“Of course _you_ would say that.”  She rolled her eyes in annoyance.  Why did he always have to do this?  They were having a perfectly tolerable time mocking humans and then he had to go and insert his opinions about her.  “Not everyone thinks the way you think, _Prince_ , or needs what you need.”

“I know that,” he said defensively.  “But fighting?”

“It’s what some people need.”

He was quiet for a moment and, even though she had returned her attention to the television, he clearly hadn’t since she could still feel his eyes on her.

“What you need,” he concluded. 

Quill kept her eyes on the screen to hide her surprise that the statement had been free from his usual judgment.  “We’re talking about Tanya.”

“Yes.  Of course.”

“Just watch the television, Charles.”

* * *

By Wednesday, all of the teenagers were back at school and it was business as usual—wake up, teach ungrateful brats, go home, and repeat.  Even the comments about her pregnancy had dropped off—or they had learned to make such comments outside her presence.  On Friday, Mattuesz asked if they could have their friends over (the prince had stood behind him and was presumably ‘asking’ as well), so Quill choose to stay late at school to finish her marking rather than deal with the teenagers in her home.  Somehow, however, the teenagers always seemed to find her—or, as was the current case, seemed to just loiter in her general vicinity.

The first time she saw him walk past her classroom, Quill ignored it. 

The second time she saw him walk past her classroom, she rolled her eyes but continued ignoring it. 

The third time, she said something.

“Mr. Singh.”

Quill turned just in time to see him take two more steps before stopping and backtracking to her doorway.

“Yeah?”

“You’ve walked past my classroom three times in the last hour and a half.”

“Your classroom is between my locker and the gym.”

That was a lie.  Quill had no idea where his locker was (nor did she care) but he had never walked by her classroom this frequently before.

“Why are you still here?” she asked.

“Why are you?”

“Because my home is full of teenagers and, after hours, this school generally is not.”  Ram said nothing, so she continued, “Which begs the question: why you are not with them?”

“I have football practice."

“Yet you are standing in the doorway of my classroom.”

“It just finished.”

Quill rolled her eyes.  “There was no football practice today.”

“Yeah, there…”

“You’re a terrible liar,” she cut him off.  “I attend faculty meetings.  Sometimes I even listen.”

She stared at him.  He either would leave or he would stay—she hoped it would be the former, but had a feeling it would be the latter.  Unfortunately, she was right and after a couple of minutes he stepped further into the classroom and closed the door behind him. 

Great.

Sometimes Quill hated when she was right.

“How do you still live with him?”

“Who?” she asked despite knowing the answer.  “Matteusz?”

“Charlie.”

“I just do.”

“But you hate him, don’t you?”

“Not your concern.” 

Quill might indulge Ram by engaging in this conversation, but she was not about to discuss her feelings with him.  She had already gotten perilously close to doing so with Tanya.  Still, there was something about the way he asked the question that made her cock her head to side and study him. 

“Do you hate him?” she asked as he sat down on top of one of the desks.

“No.”

“He’s the reason you’re not with the rest of them, isn’t he?”  The question was met by silence.  “He is,” she concluded with a decisive nod.

“I didn’t say that.”

“Silence can be an answer, Mr. Singh.”

Silence, she had learned, was also a weapon against many of these humans—it could make some immensely uncomfortable.  Quill was fairly certain that Ram was a human who disliked silence.  Ninety seconds later, that suspicion was confirmed.

“You wanted to use it sooner.”

“Yes.”

“But he wouldn’t.”

“No,” Quill agreed.  “He would not.  But if he had, your father would be alive.”

“And April would be dead.”

Ram’s response was almost automatic.  Like it had been something he had been repeating to himself over the last week.  That was curious.

“Most likely,” she said with a nod. 

Actually, if Ram had been with April when the soul came for her, then he still may have done whatever heroic thing the ridiculous Rhodian myth required and brought her back.  Still, a discussion of the application of Rhodian mythology wasn’t a discussion she (nor Ram, most likely) wanted to have. 

“You wish he had used it sooner, don’t you.”

“You do,” he shot back defensively.

“I did, but now that he’s done it—it doesn’t matter.  The Shadow Kin are dead.  My people are avenged.”  Quill paused a beat before adding, “Your father has been avenged as well.”

“He’s still dead and so are your people.  Avenging them doesn’t change anything.”

“No it doesn’t.” There was a truth to his words—her heart still ached for her people, but the pain was less sharp than before. “But it means you’ve done all you can.”

“And that’s enough?”

Quill regarded him solemnly.  “It has to be.” 

Ram nodded slightly and then stood up to leave.  This could not have been why he came—there was something more there.  Sure enough, he hesitated before reaching for the door.  Quill considered letting him leave, but against her better judgment, she chose to speak.

“There’s no shame in it.”

“What?”

“Wanting Charles to have used the Cabinet sooner.”

He spun around to face her.  “I don’t want April dead.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“It’s the same thing,” he countered; the frustration clear in his voice.  “If Charlie had used it sooner, April would have died.”

“But your father would be alive.”

“Stop trying to make me choose between them!”

“I’m not making you do anything,” Quill responded calmly.  “You’re the one who keeps bringing up Miss MacLean.” 

“Because…”

“No,” she cut him off sharply.  Baiting him into talking through silence was well and good, but they were going in circles.  “Now is the time for you to listen.” She noticed him take a slight step back at the harshness of her tone, so she softened it as she continued, “Wishing your father was still alive does not mean you wish April dead.”

“But for my dad to have lived, she would have had to die.”

“Factually, that may have been true.  But grief is about emotions—not facts.  You are not choosing your father over April.  You are merely grieving him.”

For a second, it looked like Ram was going protest, but then his shoulders slumped and he leaned back against the door.

“Every time I think of my dad, I think of Charlie and how he could have stopped it,” Ram said finally. “But then I remember April and…”

“You feel guilty,” Quill finished when he trailed off.  He didn’t look at her directly, but he nodded.  “There’s no reason for that.  You had no choice at the time and there is no point in forcing yourself to make that choice now.”

“You make it sound so simple.”

“It’s not.”

“No shit.”

Quill chuckled slightly at his response and even he cracked a slight smile, but she became serious again. 

“You repeat it until you believe it,” she told him firmly.  “And you keep living your life the best you can until you do.”

Ram nodded slowly and then opened his mouth to say something.  Then he closed it.  Then he opened it again.  Then closed it.

“Now go back to your non-existent football practice and we can pretend this conversation never happened."

“Yeah, good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what'd you think? Did my Ram work? I've been so uncertain about writing Ram. But him grappling with the April vs his dad thing suddenly became very important to me.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quill heads back to Whitsable because being the accidental therapist to virtually all of the teenagers is exhausting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes you notice that Lolita is among the books on the bookshelf in Quill's bedroom and then you write a chapter about her talking about Russian lit with an overly extroverted and bored barista even though it doesn't do much of anything to advance the plot.

When Quill awoke Saturday morning, she wasn’t certain what she would do, but she was certain she would not be spending it in Shoreditch.  Tossing a book into her bag and filling her travel mug with her daily allotment of coffee, she headed to St. Pancras. 

Once there, Quill considered choosing another place at random, but chose Whitsable again.  The last visit had been pleasant enough (even that barista hadn’t been as grating as most humans) and there had been other walks than the one she did along the slopes.  It would be a tolerable way to spend half a weekend.

The one thing she didn’t account for was the rain.

Weather on this planet changed far too often.  Yes, there was that app the Polish one was always reminding her about, but Quill refused to have her life dictated by an app on a phone. 

Still, this was England so she carried an umbrella with her at all times, which meant she was able to stay relatively dry en route to the coffee shop.  As she waited in the queue, she looked at the barista to determine if it was the same one.  It was a woman with red hair, so it odds were good, but Quill generally couldn’t be bothered distinguishing between humans—let alone remembering them.

“Welcome back.”

Well, the confirmed it.  “You remember me?”

“We don’t get that many pregnant blond ladies with badass scars in here.” She—or Beth as the name tag reminded her—with a smirk.  Quill found herself smirking back in spite of herself.  “Hot choc?”

“Sure.”  Quill scanned the offensively cheery red and green holiday signage.  It was garish, but they did look good.  “Gingerbread.”

“Good choice.  That’s £3.15.”  As with before, Beth continued talking.  “Not the best weather for a walk on the slopes.”

“Should stop in a couple of hours,” she mumbled while digging through her bag for her purse.

“Yeah, but the ground will be wet.”

“I understand the fundamentals of how rain works.”

“But your shoes.”

Quill handed her the money and then looked down at her heeled boots with confusion.  “I wore these last time.”

“The ground was dry then.  Those heels will get stuck in the mud.”

Quill studied her boots and frowned.  They were rather annoying the in sand—mud would be worse.  “Damn.”

“You could walk along the harbor,” Beth suggested.  “There’s a boardwalk so you’ll be good.  But it can be slick, so I’d wait here until the rain stops.”

“Are you questioning my ability to walk?” Quill found herself struggling not to shout.  Was this little barista actually suggesting that she—a warrior of the Quill—could not walk down a little Earth boardwalk?   

“Well, you’re pregnant and…”

“I might hurt myself?” Quill cut her off sharply.

Beth, to her credit, didn’t flinch at her tone.  She smirked instead. Which was odd.  Beth was an odd human.  Maybe that’s why Quill found her tolerable.

“Or the well-meaning people who might try to invite the pregnant woman in from the rain.”

Quill frowned at the prospect.  “People here really do that?” 

“Most won’t, but some—like my overbearing mum—would.”

Beth was tolerable, but Quill expected her mother would not be.  “Then best to avoid it completely,” she agreed with the curt nod.

“Probably.”  Beth gestured at the more secluded corner of the cafe.  “Have a seat and I’ll bring your drink over.”

* * *

“Idiot.” 

Quill slammed her book down in annoyance and looked up to find a startled Beth staring at her. 

“I was just going to grab your empty cup,” Beth said hesitantly.  “But I can come back.”

“Not you,” she clarified.  “The idiot in this book.  This man—who clearly ascribes to the human concept of monogamy—walked in on his wife and her cousin in the midst of having sex and is utterly obviously to the affair.”

Beth didn’t respond immediately and for a moment Quill wondered if she was about to be chastised about those spoiler things that Matteusz had gone on about when she told Charles that Tom Riddle was Voldemort when he was one third of the way through _The Chamber of Secrets_.  (The prince had deserved to have that book spoiled.  He had been particularly obnoxious that week, and it wasn’t as if she had spoiled the entire series.  The Polish one had not appreciated either of these reasons.)

But her current book wasn’t part of Harry Potter and was an eighty-some year old work of fiction by some dead guy, so if this barista was about to lecture her on spoilers, Quill would…

“You’re reading _Despair_?”

Turned out, Beth had just paused so that she could read the cover of the book.

“Yeah, so?”

“Most people don’t read Nabokov and, if they do, they typically don’t stray from _Lolita_.”

“I’m not typical.”

“Clearly.”  Beth chuckled as she picked up the empty mug.  “Don’t give up on it though.  Hermann is an arrogant idiot but it’s…” she trailed off to avoid what Quill assumed were spoilers.  “Just finish it.”

“I always finish what I start.”

“Depending on how far you get, maybe we can discuss it during my break.”

“Sure,” Quill found herself agreeing far too quickly.  The prospect of talking to an actual adult was almost appealing.  “Unless the rain’s stopped.”

* * *

“Did you give up?”

Quill looked up from her phone to see Barista Beth.  “What?”

“On the book.”

“Finished it.”

“That was fast.” 

Quill shrugged in response and Beth gestured at the chair. 

“May I?”

Quill looked at her skeptically.  Then she looked out the window to confirm what her phone had said was true: it was still raining.  She looked back at the barista, who was holding two mugs. 

“Are one of those for me?”

“Peppermint chocolate.”

“Yeah, sure.”  Beth sat down and slid the mug over.  Quill looked at Beth’s mug—more accurately, she smelled the coffee in her mug.  “You have to taunt me with coffee?”

“I’m not going to give up my coffee just for some random customer at café.”

“But you’ll offer to discuss literature with them.”

“Well, not all literature—just Russian.  I’m easy for Russian lit.”

“Russian?”

“Vladimir Nabokov.”  Beth tapped the book.  “Did you think he was English?”

“Didn’t think about him at all.”

“Please say you at least noticed Nabokov’s penchant for writing unreliable narrators.”

“You mean that Hermann, like that Humbert, is a liar?”

Beth responded with a wide smile.  “Exactly.”

Discussing literature, it turned out, was not terrible.  Beth was rather insightful, even if she had an unfortunate penchant for using unnecessarily formal terminology.  (And yet, she somehow managed to subtly explain what she meant without being condescending.)   They were in the midst of discussing the motif of doppelgängers (because of course there was name for that) when Quill’s phone buzzed. 

 **The Competent One:** _Hey._

Upon seeing who it was from, Quill stopped speaking mid-sentence and frowned.

 **The Competent One:** _You busy?_

She swiped to unlock her phone and began typing quickly.

 **Quill** : _School auditorium. Two hours._

 **The Competent One:** _You don’t have to._

 **Quill** : _Two hours._

She looked up from her phone to see Beth looking at her with concern. Quill ignored it and reached for her book.  “I need to go.”

“Is everything all right?”

“Yes.”  Quill stood up and shrugged her coat back on.  “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“You stopped mid-sentence when you got that text.”

“Not your concern.”

“Sure.”

Quill watched Beth stand up and grab the two empty mugs.  Beth’s face made her feel vaguely unpleasant as if she should say something.  “It’s just a student.”

“Really?”

“Why would I lie?”

“You don’t seem like the kind of teacher who gets texts from students on a weekend—or gets texts from students ever.”

“Try as I might, I can’t seem escape them.”

“But you’re stopping what you’re doing to help this one.”

“She’s a special case,” Quill said non-commitally. That was as far is this conversation was going.  “Uh, thanks for the hot chocolate.”

“No problem.”  Beth smiled.  “See you next week?”

“Maybe.”

“Well, either way, try Dostoevsky.”

“Dosto-what?”

“Who,” Beth corrected.  “Another Russian writer.  I think you’d like him—try one of his short stories first.”

“Maybe,” Quill said before turning to leave.  “See you around Barista.”

“See you around, bitter pregnant lady.”

Quill stopped and turned around so Beth could see her scowl.  The young woman just laughed.

“What? I don’t know your name.”

“Quill.”

“See you around, Quill.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, sometimes I question my decision to make Beth solidly hetero; however, it's very important to me that Quill has a purely platonic friend because Quill needs a community of people around her and she needs adults in that community.


End file.
